Sorry, sorry. Not so funny story actually, I actually finished most of this chapter a while ago but it was deleted when the internet reset. So... awesome. You'd think I would have learned my lesson the last three times it happened in my other story.
Sorry again.
Especially if this chapter disappoints you.
Sorry.
I can't believe this is it, Pen thought to herself, fidgeting with her unbearably tight corset. She hated this dress. She hated the lace ruffles spilling from her waist, itching her legs even through her under-dress, and how uncomfortably bare her shoulders felt without anything covering them. She despised these damn shoes, cutting into the back of her heel and pinching her toes together, greeting every step she took with teeth-grinding pain. And she especially loathed the heavily embroidered mask between her fingers, the pins holding it to her face having unfastened for the tenth time in thirty minutes. She only wished it covered enough of her to allow her to escape this party.
"Having fun, Penelope?" Angela, her younger sister, whispered teasingly from behind their father's back, beaming at him innocently when he paused his conversation about stock exchange long enough to frown at her. He had put together this whole "birthday party" for her, decorating the ballroom of their huge and beautiful estate and inviting all his "friends", although she doubted he actually knew most of them personally. Despite the perfectly good dance floor, she and her sister have spent the last half hour standing numbly at his shoulders as he greeted each guest that managed to tear themselves from the herd of stiff, gossiping upperclassmen taking up most of the room to say hello.
She was bored out of her mind, but had no hope for good conversation, seeing how almost everyone at the party were self-obsessed, middle aged couples with little or no interest in neither her nor her sister. Her only hope was maybe one of the twelve year olds huddling at a table with a tray of finger sandwiches, obviously only brought along to entertain each other while their parents mingled and got drunk. She wished she could join them, and talk about kid things, like her fool proof stay-home-sick routine and the adventures she used to have with the friends who used to visit before she had her accident. Stuff she was good at, unlike what she was doing now, pretending to be some ornament that somehow makes her father look better, even if she wasn't doing a very good job.
Pen groaned, re-attaching the mask before whipping open her fan, so that her father wouldn't see her scowling from behind it. "No, I don't think that's how I'd describe how I'm feeling right now," she grumbled, ignoring the disapproving Don't-Speak-While-I'm-Speaking Look her father shot in her direction this time before once again returning to his attention to his guest. Once they were sure he was distracted, each sister took a couple steps backwards, to avoid interrupting him again.
Angela continued. "Oh come on, it'll be fun once we get the chance to mingle. It's like were royalty." She was clearly thrilled with the idea, teetering forward and back and smiling shamelessly. Pen resisted rolling her eyes. "But that's the thing Angie: we're not. And Father does not have this many friends. I don't see why so many people have to be here for this." She felt sick to her stomach, although whether it was because of the outfit or occasion she wasn't so sure.
Angela chewed on her lip, mulling this over, but shrugged indifferently. "So what if they're not all his friends? It's not every day that someone like our father celebrated his daughter's sixteenth birthday, especially not a daughter like you. Everyone's here to celebrate your life. So be excited!" Angela's grin widened- if that was even possible- as though to demonstrate the amount of excitement Pen should be displaying.
But how could she? Pen knew that despite the supposed innocence behind her father's intentions when he set all this up, it wasn't a mere birthday party. He's been planning it since she was born practically, every since her grandfather named her as the sole heir of his vast fortune, and her father's business began to run out of funds. She inherited everything- the money, the house, the cars, with one catch: she has to get married, first. Granted, marriage at sixteen was a tad bit outdated, and it was probably obvious to everyone in the room that she was being sold out to save her father's sorry butt from his own bad business call, but it was legal, and it was happening, and there was nothing she could do about it. So now here she was, trapped in this prison of a ballgown, awaiting the moment he formerly dooms her to a lifetime of one-sided conversations and being forced to watch life from behind windows. Just like her mother.
"Girls, I'd like you to meet my good friend Maxwell Simmons," her father announced over his shoulder, double-taking when he didn't catch that his daughters were no longer stationed obediently beside him at first glance. Penelope sighed, trying to push the dark, hopeless weight off her chest as she reclaimed her spot at his right hand. She put on a smile.